tagRomanceA Flame in the Night Ch. 09

A Flame in the Night Ch. 09


THE FLAME (Act 3 of 3)

Our adventurous night has been filled with dancing and candle-lit lovemaking. There's even a bag full of many sensual things. Though for now, the bag sits closely nearby us with more things inside it, most of which is still unbeknownst to you. But thus far its contents, including a candle and restraining ware, have added an exciting element to the evening.

However, presently, we're lying on our sides and resting on the bed with the lights on. Indeed, I need this dearly beloved and precious time. I need to recover as I'm limp everywhere from sharing our passion. We've been humping like happy rabbits in a carrot garden just a few Twitter-length seconds ago. So, believe me, I need the spacing of seconds, minutes, or hours to refurbish myself. After all, a man's gotta have a little time to loll, otherwise--measurably, he's upwards to nothing. He's pointless in length, and--hardly, he's no better than a hairy, dickless chick. And putting all fetishes aside, that's not how a woman wants her man.

Consequently, although it feels far too brief for me--for you--it's overtime! There's some unfinished business and an unsettled outcome. Time is delinquent, and you've got account receivables needing tending. Like an expired library book, you're ready to be renewed and reread. And the last thing you want now is for your pages to be sitting around, getting untouched, as if you've been lost on an old neglected shelf.

So to entertain yourself, you gently chuck your leg up against mine and lightly let it slide and ease down my slope. And you do it without any particular cause, reason, or intention--you're just restless. Then, by and by, after a while, you start touching me and caressing me with your soft, caring hands. And little by little, at first, then with increasing focus and desire, you feel more playful with every sweeping pass and every loving stroke you paint on my body.

Conversely, as we're facing one another, I'm responding to you laggardly, at best. I'm dopey and slow and having enough trouble following your playmaking. However, I try to mind you and return some of my attention, but unfortunately, I'm shot and spent. And I feel so awfully, awfully tired!

Nevertheless, in a cozy, sportive voice you say teasingly, "Mmm... what's the matter? Aren't you in the mood for me?"

My brain is ready for a holiday, or at least a good siesta, so I pause before answering. That might be one of those hair-trigger, loaded questions that could lead me into trouble if I'm not tactful. But, I'm coming up blanks in original ideas, though maybe, I hope some satire will calm you. Lightheartedly, I try crooning out in song:

"Girl, I think about it every night, and day... I'm addicted, wanna jump inside your love." Then, I pause and whimper, "...Only, just not right now. Okay?"

"No, no. Sorry. Black Eyed Peas won't be showing up here to help you." You lean in and give me a quick peck on my cheek.

But soon I begin to close my eyes again, at first blinking them at half pace, until eventually they shut completely. I attempt to settle into napping, trusting you'll see I'm doggone tired and ignore me as I succumb to the long night that has shipwrecked my effectiveness.

Yet, despite my obvious and apparent impoverishment, you're beginning to enjoy the challenge to try and reignite my spark. Therefore, you relocate your body closer to mine and gravitate over to kiss my chest. What's more, you skim your fingers, ever so slowly, along my waist. And likewise, you allow your fingertips to take a stroll, and walking them finger by finger, they casually tread along the upper vertex of my side.

But regrettably, I'm still not behaving to your liking. Thus, haphazardly, you snap your head in my direction and flog your hair strands in my face.

"Oh, stop!" I open my eyes and mutter lightly, attempting to be gentle with my rejection. Faintly I'm grumbling beneath my voice and complaining of exhaustion: my fuel cells are low and I just want to recharge myself by sleeping. And after considering my condition here, that is, if I were to first describe the way I'm feeling, I'd say I feel like a mummy, wound up in wraps and unable to move. But on careful review of the situation, I'd be better told and even believably accurate to say that I'm feeling like a mouse--being stalked and cornered like prey!

Like a kitten, you rub your whiskery-smooth face in my skin and peek at me with those mischievous feline eyes. Plus, you stretch out your paws to fondle my genitals, and while annoyingly smirking, you use those cat-like mittens to molest my balls and dangle my cock. Then, with a condescending look, you play around and tussle with it, and momentarily, you admire your "golden" jewel piece as if it were actually scented with catnip. And surely, it does satisfy your curiosity--for a tad, until you've become bored with my limpness. Hence, a little later, your hands are roaming again, and they drift around wherever they want, making soft, grazing brushes that cover my front.

However, soon after, you see my eyes drooping and growing comfortable as I'm about to take a snooze. So then, abruptly, you shove me over and level me out on my back. And as I look up at you, with my tired, bleary eyes, I can almost see the claws in your paws as though you're preparing to pounce on your new mouse toy. Yet, before you bushwhack my plaything, you opt to grapple my nipples and test my resistance even further.

I continue making weak blocking swings, praying this will discourage you from being a pestering nuisance. But by now, I'm convinced there's something more to this. Something is spurring you to be very persistent. Thus, I'm left with no favorable choice but to beg for mercy.

"Please," I say. "No more! Give me five minutes. ...I just need a little more rest."

But rather than that, you straddle over me and drop your hair into my face. And while your head is still lowered, you start running your tongue all over my nipples.

I feel like I've got to scratch or itch or shoo away a gnat in my face. Again, I try ignoring you--for as much as I can, but your soft touch tickles! So I use more of my valuable energy and nudge you away once again.

But you're still not done with me yet!

You crouch back and sit into your hindquarters, seemingly getting ready to take flight and spring. And just before striking me, I sense you giving me forewarning, but then, quickly you "leap" to my rib cage and arrest me. Thus, as you're pinning me down and restraining me from getting away, you seize control of my will and torment me with long, stroking licking patterns that haunt the extreme limits of my senses. I shudder and tremble as your damp tabby tongue laps all around my belly, cleaning my abdomen and searching for new ways to provoke me. And while you're at it, repetitiously you're heckling me, and saying, "Come on, come on! I want to play with little brother."

For me, the harassment is much too intolerable. Dearly me, I just can't get any sleep! So once again I retaliate and push you off my gut. But dreadfully, this time I know I'm in trouble because the pussy is on the hunt. And when you move closer towards my ear, I swear I hear beastly sounds that almost seem like you're purring. But actually, you're just necking in my ear and whispering, "Baby, baby. I wanna play!"

Sadly, my body's not in the mood to play, or move, or do anything useful. However, after hearing your perky voice, I get cold shivers all the way down my spine. I know exactly what you require and it frightens me.

I corral enough strength just to kiss you, wishing this will buy time and cool you off. And we kiss for a bit; except, my plan to slow your pursuit doesn't work well. You're all played out of that romantic, sentimental nonsense. You've moved on from kissing my lips and bathing my anatomy. Better than that, with full and ample breaths you exhale and blow hair-raising breezes into my flesh and lifeless bag of bones. And again and again, you declare out, "I want you!"

Suddenly and without additional warning--you make your descent. With your mouth graciously wide open, you swoop lower and go for the kill. You draw me in and devour your incapable man-mouse. Emphatically, you suck my limp, dangling meat until it's completely within your lips. And as you engulf my snubby little pacifier and consume my member whole, impatiently you wait, expecting your toy thing to grow and inflate to a more competent dimension.

But, disappointingly, I'm a flop! I'm failing Sex Ed 101. I haven't produced the chain reaction that's sorely needed. However, things are altogether different now. Upon feeling the smack of that dive and slurping jolt of your face chowing on my noodle, I'm certainly more awake. In fact, I discern new life in my brain--and in my drowsy organs, as well. So, there's no need or desire to be pushing, swatting, or blocking you away, and surprisingly, I'm much more receptive to your tenacious henpecking and nettlesome foreplay.

Hence, I settle in and behave myself like a good host, and let you nurse me back to my health. And although I was tardy appreciating your efforts, I'm more than happy now to lounge about receiving your stimulation. But, everything is not fine and dandy yet. There's a small problem that still persists: My staff isn't flying! That erection isn't there! It's stubborn, diminutive, and slow to get going.

Meanwhile, you run your hands steadily on my torso and give consummate kisses all over my privates. Again and again, I encounter your turbulent, orally powered vacuum, as you seem to repeat the sucking routine that you've created. After wandering around the diamond and exploring the ball field, you circle back to home-base and suck the root of my bat, fiercely and earnestly. With a touchy persuasion and a firm resolve, you're determined to fortify my puffy penis. You go on and on tonguing the crown of my dick and downing my stem to the very end of the base, until then, finally, you feel it--you see it--it begins to swell! And now, anxiously, you wait for it to expand even bigger.

With my energy level out of the red, I can drop the zombie act. I'm breathing and functioning, so I can return to the living world and start doing my manly chores. And as the male of this household, my immediate duty is to--lie back, relax, stroke your hair softly, caress your shoulders gently--and let you repair my saggy, broken down penis. And within time, the results become obvious: the sucking and licking, over and over, has hardened my valuables. I'm geared up and prepared for the task. I'm packing mass, with just the right length and stiffiness for the gigging.

Consequently, your persistence has paid remarkable dividends, up to double or even triple fold! And to be compensated for that fine labor, you're eager to be rewarded. You're wet and ready to do some romping. Hence, you guide me up and lead me to the other side of the room where there's an unarmed chair. This is where you want to "dress up" and play housewife.

So in haste, you sit me down in the chair, and in nothing flat you're ambushing me. With your legs straddled over my erect, soaring pole, you drive your wet fuck-hole into my voluminous cock.

"Let's fornicate!" You cheer out, being filled in high spirits. You look into my beat, bloodshot eyes and again you say, "Fuck me where you wanna!"

I feel my manhood gathered up by the angry tornado in your snatch. And as you funnel that storm onto my big capybara, you make yourself at ease sitting on top of me. Your thighs and arms are wrapped all around my physique while you hold me down for ransom. Then, as you seesaw back-and-forth on my hard, elongated member, I'm held nearly motionless while your body is smothering me and your boobs are smearing into my chest.

But I like having you pressed into me. And being in your stronghold is kind of delightful. Forcefully, you're directing your pussy to thump me as you thrust your hips and nail me into the chair. And while I can't move much when your aggressive cunt is squeezing tightly and bucking against my hard-on, I try my best to reciprocate the intimacy by kissing your chin, nibbling your ear lobes, and tasting your neck.

However, when I get stuck gazing at your sexy hair, over and over--which, by the way--is still tied flirtatiously in twin ponytails with bright, loony ribbons--I'm now captured by another means. Your hair makes me feel sinfully guilt and overly amorous. I just want to run my hands through those lovely, lovely hair fibers and be firmly seated inside your ditch.

And in return, you bump fervently into my lap and relentlessly offer your busts to my face. And while you're getting busy blanketing me with those inflamed eye-charmers, my hands perform exploratory overtures to the entire length of your back.

However, the intercourse isn't always so erratic or heedless. Occasionally, we slam on the brakes and put a halt to our sex motors. Then we woo and coo, as though we're stopped at a crossing light, waiting for elderly grandma to gingerly cross over the road. We wait for the traffic signal to change as we nestle fondly and cuddle up in our passion. And while we highlight our loving feelings, I study your arms, caress your legs, and truly admire your breasts. Calmly and smoothly, I find what's in reach, and delicately I touch and kiss it.

But soon, and just as unpredictably as when we came to a stop, the light changes from red back to green. In an instant, you're back and raring to go! Subsequently, you step on the throttle, putting the pedal to the metal, and anxiously, you steer your cunt to get going. And suddenly--we're racing aimlessly--as you're crashing and banging my dick again!

Furthermore, as you've got me pinned down to the chair and in the driver's position, you become empowered to get crazy and set free your inhibitions. Wantonly and frequently, you're flipping your hair, flaunting your body, and teasing me with your tits. Indeed, you saddle the ride and jockey me; with a bouncing fanny and forward tilt, you lean in and take the reins, as though you're heading down the final thoroughfare to win top prize at the Kentucky Derby.

But it's all good. I'm having fun carry you around as if I were a pack mule. With you inserted on the point of my tall rigging, I fancy having your pelvic underside bearing down on my extended self. Moreover, as you continue to rock up and down on my riser, you hear me moaning and toiling, and struggling to hold back my pleasure. But the ecstasy sounds, which parallel your dipping movements, are increasing as I'm fighting to delay what's building inside of me and what's trying to work its way out.

"I want to come," I tell you. "I want to come in your pussy!"

You're into this moment and that's all you needed to hear! You've been weather-beating my feeble, tired pickle, and now your self-combusting pussy is primed for a climactic event. You take my hands and place them behind my back, and careening in with the full weight of your body, you cover me with your fluffy bra-fillers. I'm thus made to adore you as you engross yourself with sexual feelings and concentrate on getting yourself to let go. And while you feel the sturdiness of my bone bobbing inside you, plucking at your puppet strings, and taking you on a cruise, you feel your breadbasket warming your oven and baking fresh batches of endorphins that seem to spiral and permeate your middle. You begin to moan and feverishly work your bush on my knob as your little cunny seems to swell tighter with each push, making that meatbone feel harder and harder. Suddenly you're there! You've changed. Bursting with satisfaction, you reach your wondrously coveted "O!"

At once you try to savor it. My manly gland inside you is blissful. So you sit on top of my tip, trying to flatten that long skyscraper that's lodged deep in your barrel. With your peak at the crest of full motion, your vagina pulsates and oscillates by its very own doing. There's a monsoonal rain in your cloud lining and it downpours within your channel, as if there's a new breach in your riverbank. And as your wet pussy is plunged down on my rod, you take the pleasures and play games with the aptitude and intensity. The thrill flows in your circle as you sit mostly stationary thinking about my big dick stuffed in your love hole. You roll your shoulders back and around and twist and turn slowly at the waist, angling to get my long stick to ravish your sore interior. Gently and easily, you rock and squeeze my erection that's caught up inside you and let all the liveliness flow away naturally, as it should.

And while your snatch releases her come, over and over, I feel your fluid dripping down on my stock. It's warm and pleasing having my shaft lost and buried in your crevice. Plus, I feel your tummy molding against mine and like how your bottom cheeks are smashing against my balls. And over time, your orgasm must have blended with normal everyday happiness because presently our bodies are taking our time. We're moving leisurely now and teeter-tottering passively with a slackened locomotion. Apparently, there's no need to rush or do much, namely we need only to enjoy ourselves and nurture our circumstance.

But as you continue squeezing down on your hypersensitive walls and feeling that trailer hitch mingling against your surface--then out of the blue, you floor me with sensual backlash! Otherwise, I suppose, I'd forgotten what a woman is capable of accomplishing, such as the things she can do--which I simply can't. Because just like an all-you-can-eat, all-you-can-have buffet, you're already back in line and serving yourself to another helping.

My jaw drops with astonishment as suddenly I see you viciously badgering your clit. "That's right," I yell, encouraging you to keep at it. "Do it again! Come again on my cock!"

Vigorously your fingers sweep recklessly across your nub, appearing as though you're fiddling with a banjo. So I maul your nipples and restart the thrusting with my hips, hoping I can ruffle you and get you more excited. And again, apparently you've overdone it because you're now screaming and shouting all over again.

"Sss-hhh-iii-ttt! Sss-hhh-iii-ttt! Oh, fuck! I'm there again!" you cry out, as your super speedy fingertips vibrate your nerve endings.

One more time I watch you getting off, and I'm gleefully glad to see you spring it. I'm elated seeing you go wild, especially when I'm encased within your gripper. Even more, I get to be a looky-loo and be nearby while you're fingering your flower to a personal and comforting achievement.

Thus, likewise, the enjoyment of being linked to your climax has also put me on the brink. There's no coincidence here, it's just I'm wired to mimic that same sort of pleasure. My dick is glowing from seeing you aroused and feeling your heat. It's all too apparent now. Soon, I'll have to be creaming my load!

Through narrowed eyes you see what I'm doing. And I'm staring back at you and trying desperately not to ejaculate. But wanting me to share the orgasming experience, you take your knockers and begin to scour your hardened nipples into me, as if you're striving to press them into my heart. And you bounce on my endangered cock while quizzing me adamantly, "Do you like it?... Do you like me and my tits?"

My cock twitches at your voice. And again, it twitches once more as I get caught auditing through the strands of your hair. Seeing those double trouble, cute ponytail locks in your hairdo has ended me. There's no holding back my excitement. "Oh baby!" I howl.

Perpetually, you smear your boobs into my skin and drown me with deep, face-sucking kisses. I'm throbbing all over and needing to release my nozzle and put out a fire with cum. Indeed, I have the wicked urgency to take anything I want: and what I want is you! So, I grab the fleshy roundness of your ass and clasping it securely with a strong, manful brace, I force you into me.

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